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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28490028">Carving in the Round</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_on_a_Staff/pseuds/Star_on_a_Staff'>Star_on_a_Staff</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Blink and You'll Miss It Felix/Annette, Family Angst, Family Issues, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gilbert learns about the phenomenon of Growing Up, Mentioned Blue Lions Students (Fire Emblem), Parenthood, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), woodcarving</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:23:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,481</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28490028</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_on_a_Staff/pseuds/Star_on_a_Staff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On days when the war feels overwhelming, Gilbert goes to his room, takes out his knives and his tools, and begins to carve.</p><p>The lump of basswood gains a doll-like figure when Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd is pronounced dead by the Dukedom. Soft whorls of hair unfurl from its head when the letters stamped with the seals of House Dominic stop arriving. It begins smiling on the night he receives a personal letter from his younger brother informing him of the disappearance of his heir, Annette Fantine Dominic. </p><p>She left to fulfill a promise, brother. Baron Gaven Dominic writes with his trademark bold script and sardonicism. Maybe you should stop chasing old ghosts and find some new ones in the south.</p><p>In which Gilbert learns that Annette is no longer the child he once knew. Takes place during the Blue Lions Route. Written for the Lost &amp; Found Zine!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Annette Fantine Dominic &amp; Gilbert Pronislav</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Carving in the Round</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>*slaps Gilbert* This man could fit so many redemption fix-it fics on him</p><p>I had the honor of participating in the Lost &amp; Found zine and I chose to write about Gilbert and his Noseless Puppet! Contrary to popular belief, I actually like Gilbert as a character and I wanted to explore his angst and relationship with Annette further. I could write an essay on why he doesn't deserve the hate the fandom throws at him. </p><p>Carving in the Round is a woodcarving technique where you carve the subject three-dimensionally. Insert metaphorical explanation here. </p><p>Anyways, enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>On days when the war feels overwhelming, Gilbert goes to his room, takes out his knives and his tools, and begins to carve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lump of basswood gains a doll-like figure when Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd is pronounced dead by the Dukedom. Soft whorls of hair unfurl from its head when the letters stamped with the seals of House Dominic stop arriving. It begins smiling on the night he receives a personal letter from his younger brother informing him of the disappearance of his heir, Annette Fantine Dominic. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She left to fulfill a promise, brother.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Baron Gaven Dominic writes with his trademark bold script and sardonicism. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe you should stop chasing old ghosts and find some new ones in the south.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert puts away the letter. He knows what he’ll find in the ruins of Garreg Mach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The night before Gilbert sets out for the monastery, he gives the little doll a dress trimmed in bows and flounces while he wonders if Annette still wears her hair in braids. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>O.O</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The battle in the ruins of the monastery ends as quickly as it had begun, and Gilbert is suddenly very, very tired. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The professor’s return was nothing less than Goddess-sent. Her cool composure seemed to be the only glue that managed to keep the prince lucid enough to communicate with his peers, albeit in a snarling, unrestrained fashion. Perhaps it would be prudent in the future to only approach his Highness in the professor’s presence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His Highness….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the Knight’s Hall, Gilbert runs an exhausted hand across his temples. He had not thought to  account for the instability of Prince Dimitri’s mental state, but hopefully, with the arrival of new friends and allies, the prince would soon break out of his condition and lead his armies with the due diligence of his former determination.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert stands to leave the room, still frowning over this unwelcome but currently manageable development, when the door to the Knight’s Hall is pushed open by an unseen hand. He automatically reaches for his dagger, but his shoulders relax at the sight of Kingdom colors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stiffen again when Gilbert realizes that it is his daughter who is striding into the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought I’d find you here.” Annette looks up at him with her mother’s eyes, large and soft and full of fire. “I see five years haven’t changed you a bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, of course they wouldn’t. He’s an old man; a few extra years just meant a frailer body and deeper lines in his face. But Annette...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman standing before him is almost a stranger. Her hair falls past her shoulders now, loose and almost unkempt in their freedom. Her eyes are just as wide, just as bright, but what used to be a youthful gleam of constant joy and wonder is now only a steady, burning determination that shone from the depths of her heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If it weren’t for the telltale signs of war that have left their draining fingers on her; the jittery motion of her hands, her steely shoulders, and the everpresent hum of magic that twinkles in the flash of her eyes, Annette would’ve been too overwhelming to look at. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert feels a twinge of pain in his chest. He misses the mousy, overeager lass who used to trail his every step and trip over every uneven stone in cobbled streets. This…woman… couldn’t be his daughter, could she?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a beat of awkward, throat-clearing silence, Gilbert finds his voice. “I’m…glad to see you safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t look it.” Annette twists her fingers into the twine binding the stack of papers in her arms. She had always been a fidgeter, his Annie.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wartime is not the place for levity, Annette,” Gilbert says wearily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A stricken expression flashes across her face, and then Annette crosses her arms, papers and all. “Can’t I be happy that you’re happy and healthy in front of me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bite in her voice makes him recoil, makes his defenses slam up like stone walls. “Don’t concern yourself with me,” Gilbert says shortly, folding his arms across his back and turning to face the time-stretched map hanging off of the wall. “Let’s focus our efforts on gathering our troops and rousing their spirits. Have you checked in with your battalion yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Annette doesn’t answer, Gilbert turns back to face her. He’s shocked to see how tightly her fists are clenched, how the pale lines of her face are drawn with anger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Annette, what--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Throwing the stack of papers aside, Annette launches herself at him, throwing her arms around him so tightly that all the breath inside of him leaves his lungs in a surprised gasp. Annette burrows her head against him, not nuzzling in that way she used to when she was three and innocently adoring, but fiercely squeezing him as if he’s sand in her fingers and she’s trying to keep him together in her grasp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert nearly chokes under the strain of her startling strength, the pointed feet of the wooden doll in his pocket digging painfully into his ribs, and suddenly the woman clutching him is not his sweet-faced child anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could reciprocate or even react in any way, Annette pulls away from him and dashes the silvery tears in her eyes away with an angry motion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There.” Annette blinks at him, her exhale shuddering on the cusp of a sob as she visibly collects herself, shaking out her arms and hastily twining them behind her back in a poor mimicry of his calm soldier’s presence from earlier. “I’ve wanted to do that for </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert coughs, his throat uncomfortably tight. “Annette, I…I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annette’s mouth crunches into an unhappy smile. “I’ve been dreading to hear</span>
  <em>
    <span> that </span>
  </em>
  <span>for so long.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert winces. This isn’t how he expected their reunion to go. For one thing, he’d hoped he would be far more coherent than now, where every word feels wrong and every gesture a travesty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annette bends down and gathers the scattered papers on the floor. After collecting them, she straightens and moves to his side, quiet but insistent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here.” She eases the pile of papers into his arms. “Professor Byleth asked me if you could go over these records for her. She’s been gone for such an awfully long time. Also, some of my battalion have only just been mustered, so it’ll take some time to get them battle-ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annette speaks with almost uncertain authority, as if this is a role she’s only just now settling into, but nevertheless something in her tone makes the knight in him straighten its shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Understood.” Gilbert flips through the papers quickly. “Tell her I’ll have these straightened out and ready for her tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will.” Annette casts a final look at him, and the sudden exhaustion and sorrow in her expression is terrifying to him in its familiarity. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the war-meeting, Father.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doors close behind her, and Gilbert is left alone with a stack of crumpled papers in his hands and a heart that feels heavier than the unfinished wooden doll nestled in his pocket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>O.O</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The war drags on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some days, it feels as slow as an old soldier making patrols around an abandoned monastery in the cold hours of the dawn, and on other days, it feels as fast as a fiery-haired woman flinging blades made out of iridescent wind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prince Dimitri continues to plow through swathes of Imperial soldiers like they’re made of paper, and while his determination is certainly admirable, the wild light of ever lingering fury continues to unsettle Gilbert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He carves the finishing touches onto his wooden doll the night they had to pry a raging Dimitri off of a choking Ashe, whose kindly nature bade him to touch Dimitri’s arm to offer him dinner and was thanked by a hand around his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert sighs heavily as he places his knife on to his desk and studies his finished work. Round, elfin, almost puckish in its purity, the doll smiles back at him with her arms extended merrily from her sides, just how Annette used to spread her arms like a bird when she was young.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he considers the doll in the low candlelight of his room, there’s a knock on his door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enter,” Gilbert calls out, and the door flies open as Annette all but tears into the room, worry and concern etched deep in her eyes as she kneels before him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Felix told me what happened,” she says in lieu of a greeting, taking his jaw in her hand. It stings from where the prince has smashed his elbow into his jaw, and her face falls when she takes in the heavy bruising. “Oh, Father…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll heal,” Gilbert takes her hand and is about to gently remove it from his face before he realizes that the ache in his cheek is fading, and that her hand is glowing green like spring and like new grass. “Ah. I’ve told you not to concern yourself with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were wounded! Of course I’ll worry about you!” Annette frowns at him, but it softens when Gilbert meets her gaze tiredly. “Listen, I can’t heal very well, but I can at least patch up small injuries like this. So if this happens again, let me know, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” he says honestly, made vulnerable under the searching glint in her eyes, and Annette squeezes his worn hand with hers. “I’ll hold you to it, Father. I’ll pester you if you so much as trip, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he echoes with a faint hint of amusement, inevitably softening under her effusiveness, and for a moment everything is just as it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annette stands to leave, but before she exits Gilbert suddenly catches her hand from behind. “Wait, Annette.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turns to gape at him, blinking with surprise. Her hand is so warm in his, even through their thick winter gloves. “Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…” Gilbert takes the doll and pushes it into her hands before his courage leaves him. “I made this for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her lips fall open in surprise. “Oh!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annette cradles the little wooden doll in her hands, and her face is shining with such delight that it warms him to see it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This…” Her voice trembles on a laugh, and she strokes the soft whorls of the doll’s hair with nostalgic reverence. “You made these for me when I was a child...oh, it’s so cute!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I carved it on a whim,” Gilbert says quietly. The doll is so, so small in her hands. “I still do, when the mood strikes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been forever since you’ve given me one of these,” Annette murmurs as she runs a curious fingernail over a carved bang over the doll’s forehead. “Why give this to me now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…I thought it would make you happy,” Gilbert admits. “You used to love it when I made them for you as a child.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annette looks up, her bright smile thinning into wary confusion as the words ring between them, heavy, misplaced, dissonant. “I’m not a child anymore, Father.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know that,” Gilbert runs a hand along his jaw in frustration, at himself and how silly he had been. “I just thought you might like it, is all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As her mouth opens in a retort, he moves a weary hand away from her. “If you do not like it, discard it if you wish. It’ll be the same in the end.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Father, you’re being silly.” Annette chides him as she settles by his feet, turning the doll over in her hands restlessly. “I can never throw it away, and you know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert sits silently, shoulders bowed under his shame as Annette dances the doll on her knee. She’s not playing with it, really, because there’s a distant expression on her face and a quirk to her lips as the doll’s shoes pitter-patter on the white cloth of her dress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You weren’t totally reticent during those five years, were you, Father?” Annette finally breaks the silence, soft and solemn. “You were making this for me, all this time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Gilbert watches the doll skip up Annette’s hem and do a little twirl, spinning under his daughter’s suddenly deft fingers. “I could never forget about you or your mother. Perhaps this belittled my penance, but I was truly happy to see you again, Annette.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So was I.” Annette looks up at him, a bright light shaking from her eyes. “You just didn’t account for me growing up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words strike him directly in the chest, fiercer and more painful than any lance wound ever could. Her words hang in the air, grave and accusatory, and this time Gilbert doesn’t try to make an apology.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to go, Father.” Annette rises and hastily dusts off her skirts, her face hooded with disappointment. “The next you get hurt, please let me know, alright? We all need to be in our best shape for the next fight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will, Annette,” Gilbert rumbles, and it’s not until the door groans shut behind her before he realizes that she’s left the doll by his feet, where it sits in a sweet pantomime of what Annette used to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>O.O</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ailell reminds Gilbert just how much of a citizen of iron-cold Faerghus he is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The heat is sweltering from inside his armor, but thankfully under the professor’s careful guidance, none of them suffer any lasting damage from the heaving cracks of liquid fire under the ground’s surface. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rodrigue arrives with his forces in the nick of time, and it’s a relief to see his longtime friend casting golden bright spells that swallow up Sir Gwendal’s troops in rays of deadly light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, my friend, it is good to see you in one piece!” The handsome dark-haired duke calls graciously across the field as Gilbert plunges his heavy axe into a staggering mage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well met,” Gilbert replies with his approximation of a warm smile as Rodrigue trots up by his side. His smile fades at the sight of dark blood dripping off a fur trimmed sleeve. “Are you hurt? I have a spare vulnary you can use.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rodrigue waves his concern off. “Ah, it’s just a scratch, but I thank you.” He gestures towards their left, where Annette and her adjutant are fighting back to back. “I would’ve been more indisposed if it wasn’t for the quick thinking of your daughter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Annette…?” Gilbert glances back to where his daughter is flinging blades of wind towards her enemies, shearing them in half and turning to keep Felix’s vulnerable side from the swing of an errant blade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s become quite the force of nature,” Rodrigue observes, and Gilbert places his hand to where the wooden doll lies nestled in his pocket, small and sweet and irrelevant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, “ Gilbert says gravely, his shoulders straightening. “She has.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading!</p><p>And thank you, Lost &amp; Found zine mods, for letting me write about Gilbert! I had such a wonderful experience as a contributor and I'm honored to be a part of this project &lt;3</p><p>I keep forgetting to post my zine pieces so I'll post the others once I remember to :P</p><p>In the meantime, follow me on <a href="https://twitter.com/clairvoyancehsu">my twitter</a> if you want to keep up to date with my shenanigans!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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